


those three days you were dead

by wttlpwrites



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wttlpwrites/pseuds/wttlpwrites
Summary: "Maybe I wasn't meant to make it this far, Buck."Bucky snorted, didn't open his eyes. "Yeah, and maybe Virginia Jackson didn't suck Tommy Parkers off behind the corner store summer of '36."--a vignette





	those three days you were dead

**Author's Note:**

> title from brand new's "jesus christ"

They were lying quietly, the window overlooking the lush greens of Wakanda, misted over but somehow still vibrant. Steve couldn't stop staring at all of it. This was new air that they were never meant to breathe.    
  
"His Majesty got us set up pretty damn good, don't he?" Bucky asked.    
  
"He feels guilty. Maybe like he needs to atone for something, for his father. It won't last long. We should probably leave before his generosity runs out," Steve said, licking his bottom lip.    
  
"And go where? Damn, Stevie, you're all sorts of cryptic today." Bucky slit his eyes open, still drowsy from cryo, and poked Steve in the side.    
  
His head was laid out on Steve's lap, enjoying the feel of fingers running through his hair.    
  
"How are you so okay?" Steve asked. He couldn't help it, and couldn't even look at Bucky. Felt damned for saying anything.    
  
But they were lying in a faraway land without a leg to stand on for their own and Bucky'd been... Bucky'd been through hell.    
  
"I'm not, asshole, but I'm out."    
  
It took Steve just a second to respond. "I'm so fucking glad of it."   
  
"Yeah, me too," Bucky yawned. "I'm gonna go back to my nap. Don't hurt yourself thinking so much, punk."   
  
Steve nodded slightly, distracted, and didn't cease the movement of his hands through Bucky’s hair.

  
It had been a long four months, with Bucky in the tank and Steve with just his thoughts and his Catholic guilt. Sam called him a mess, Wanda helped him sleep, and Clint just punched him on the shoulder and asked whether he wanted to spar. Usually it was a yes.    
  
But Bucky was out now. And Steve felt numb.    
  
—   
  


Steve was trying to think about the moment Bucky had stepped out of cryo. The joy. The excitement. All of the feelings were muted, he couldn’t remember how it had felt. 

  
It was sunset when Bucky woke next. The world looked like it was on fire and Steve knew that it was just in his head.    
  
"It's like flowers," Bucky said, and Steve retreated further into his head. He'd never seen flowers quite like the sky they were looking at.    
  
"You're like flowers," Steve said. Bucky looked up, all lazy hair and sleep rubbed eyes, and smiled.    
  
"You never make sense," he said fondly.    
  
"You don't either," Steve shrugged. Bucky sighed with exaggerated exasperation.   
  
"Yeah, but I was brainwashed." He puckered his lips. "They took out my sense."    
  
Steve trembled, just slightly. "Don't joke."   
  
"Well, I hate to break it to you, but it's only half joke. The other half is organic."    
  
"Bucky, what the fuck," Steve said, but it was just tired. He didn't have his anger, and that was part of what made all of it feel so unreal.    
  
Bucky finally sat up and looked Steve straight on. He lifted his hands to frame Steve's face, looking him directly in the eye. "Steve."    
  
Steve couldn't answer. It was like words had never once escaped his mouth. As though he'd forgotten the feeling of sound.    
  
"Wanda is going to try and do some digging around up there, see if she can magic my brain, and the King has a list of psychologists on call for fixing me. Right now, I'm not thinking about it. You shouldn't either."    
  
It seemed sudden, that burst of words. Steve felt like he wasn't even there.    
  
"That doesn't seem very healthy," he choked out. Bucky shrugged.    
  
"Maybe not."    
  
Steve felt something inside of him. He didn't really know what it was. "I'm sorry," he said. The words hadn't ever come as easily as they did after-- after everything. He was someone he didn't recognize. Angerless and full of apologies.   
  
—   
  
They were in the same bed, what felt like hours later, and might have been minutes. They hadn’t moved, and any other day Steve would’ve been perfectly content. But that day he was hot and the sheets stuck to his legs and he wanted to go home (where is home?) and he was empty.    
  
He tapped Bucky lightly and Bucky moved over, off his legs. Bucky always knew what he meant, even without the words. Had known everything about him for forever.    
  
“What’s wrong with you, Stevie?” It wasn’t mean. It wasn’t anything rude or accusatory. “Something’s eating at you.”   
  
Steve sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Maybe I wasn’t meant to make it this far, Buck.”    
  
Bucky snorted, didn't open his eyes. "Yeah, and maybe Virginia Jackson didn't suck Tommy Parkers off behind the corner store summer of '36."    
  
Steve wanted to laugh, but it was stuck in his throat.    
  
“I don’t feel real, Bucky,” he said. He felt so fucking horrible saying anything. He felt like he should just shut up and deal with it. But it’d been months.    
  
Bucky finally sat up and looked at him. “You’re real. This is real.”    
  
Steve looked at him and tried for anything, tried to make any sort of expression.    
  
“Listen to me, Steve,” he said. “You are here and I am here. Hold my hand?”    
  
And wasn’t that just a bitch and a half. Steve remembered so many times, so many darkened rooms and lonesome alleys, where those words were all he cared about.  _ Hold my hand? _   
  
Bucky was always a fucking sap.    
  
Steve reached out and took his hand. Bucky stroked his thumb over Steve’s wrist, and put his other hand on Steve’s face again.    
  
“I don’t remember everything, Steve. But I remember enough. I know who you were back then, and I’m looking at you now and you’re not the same but you’re still Steve.” Bucky had something strong in his eyes. Steve nodded, feeling settled, if not better.    
  
“I love you, y’know?” Steve asked.    
  
“Yeah, I know. Y’know, if you weren’t meant to be here, that means that you’re not meant to be with me. Is that true?”   
  
Steve shook his head, silent. “I’m always meant to be with you.”   
  
“I know. That’s how I know you’re here.”    
  
Steve let out a rush of a breath.    
  
—   
  
The morning after was hard. Steve got himself up, splashed some water on his face, and gave all his effort into standing.    
  
He stumbled out of his room, the back of his mind rattling with thoughts of what the Avengers would do when King T’Challa finally kicked them out.    
  
He made his way downstairs. He made his way to the medical wing. He opened the door to the cryo room.    
  
He stopped in front of Bucky, and spent the day tricking himself into thinking that Bucky was just resting. Maybe, if he tricked himself well enough, he’d have another sweet dream.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought of this one in the comments, and leave kudos if you're feeling extra nice


End file.
